


the consequences of fashion

by WingsOfTime



Series: in another time [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: First Time, Intersex Character, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, happy sex between two consenting adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 04:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: Maybe, if they were so inclined, it would have always eventually come to this.





	the consequences of fashion

**Author's Note:**

> hey! for those of you who are familiar with my "ikael" series, or "Moments," this fic contains the same characters with the same dynamic, but is not set in the canon of that world - it's an AU. i just wanted to have some fun, so i wrote a what-if scenario . but no, there is no unmentioned pining going on in ikael's main verse, lel  
> Oh! also I didn't come up with Thancred's improv'ed line - I saw it on a post that I can't find somewhere.

“Stop eating your godsdamned ice cream like that,” Thancred growls.

Ikael pauses with his tongue still sticking out. “Li’ wha’?” he says.

“Like it is paying you for your services,” Thancred replies.

Ikael slowly begins to frown at him, but equally slowly retracts his tongue. Thancred will consider it a win.

“It is not _my_ fault,” Ikael drawls, for all the world sounding as if Thancred is a drooling lecher he cannot believe he has allowed to grace his company, “That you have a dirty mind.”

“By all means,” Thancred says, “continue violating your ice cream somewhere more public, and get arrested. Or is there a reason you have dragged me to the one bench that is tucked out of sight in this little corner?”

Ikael stares at him blankly, and for a brief moment Thancred fears the quickness of his own mind has leapt too far ahead. Then Ikael’s eyes narrow ever-so-slightly, and Thancred smiles.

“I _knew_ you did that on purpose, you conning bastard,” he murmurs, all smirks and smugness. “And here everyone acts like they must preserve your innocence, as if you do not know _exactly_ what you are doing.”

“Is that why everyone excuses their way out of my invitations to have ice cream?” Ikael murmurs back, the only hint of sarcasm the levelness of his voice. “And here I thought they were really just ‘too busy, so sorry.’”

Thancred snorts lightly, watching with some sense of victory as Ikael, for the first time Thancred has ever seen, eats his ice cream like a normal person. It is after a few minutes of this, when Thancred still cannot completely chase away his smile, that Ikael looks at him and rolls his eyes.

“Alright, no need to look so fuckin’ smug,” he says, and Thancred's smile grows into a grin. It is a rare thing to shatter past Ikael’s veneer of smiles and innocence, but he is a surprisingly clever man behind it. Honestly, were he not, Thancred thinks they would not be as close friends as they are.

They finish their ice cream, Thancred using exactly one opportunity when Ikael looks at him to make like a two-gil sell and do something incredibly indecent with his tongue—which earns him an eye roll—and then they are walking arm-in-arm to their next stop.

Which is a clothing store, apparently. Thancred leans against a wall and obligingly provides an antithesis to Ikael’s newfound enthusiasm about holes in clothing and “summer fashion.” It would be more difficult were Ikael’s sense of fashion actually _tasteful._

“Why would you want it to be on your chest?” Thancred just barely resists rolling his eyes. “You do not have breasts. There is no point.”

“I had a breastplate once,” Ikael doggedly insists, “That had a hole there.”

“Then whatever dead body you pulled it off of had terrible taste.” Thancred steps forward and adjusts the shirt. “The hole would look better were it on your shoulder—sort of like this, you see? Go find something that is made like that.”

“People are attracted to shoulders?” Ikael says. “Does a shoulder turn you on, Thancred?”

This time, Thancred does roll his eyes. “Even I do not have that odd of a fetish,” he says. “Now go look for what I have told you and I will wait for you by the dressing curtain.”

Five minutes later, Ikael is tottering past the curtain with arms piled high with clothing. Thancred raises an eyebrow, resists the urge to go through it all, and decides to wait.

When Ikael comes out, he is wearing…

… a shirt that is far too large. Thancred would be almost certain it is a skirt instead, were it not for the sleeves.

“You were supposed to find something that stopped around here,” he says, raising his hand to lightly rest his fingers on Ikael’s bare arm, on the swell of his bicep. He drags his gaze up as well, to meet Ikael’s. “You are… too slight for this one.”

“Slight,” Ikael repeats, staring at him.

“Yes.” Thancred motions to the hole, which is exposing nearly an entire pectoral. “You look like someone just…”

“What,” says Ikael.

“Had their way with you and left you on their bed with just a blanket to cover yourself,” Thancred finishes bluntly.

“That is quite an image to invoke,” Ikael says. He moves his arm, and the hole shifts lower. Thancred removes his hand. “I think I am buying this one.”

“Fine.” Thancred feels an irrational spike of annoyance. “But do not wear it out of here, for gods’ sakes. At least put your wrap back on.”

Ikael swiftly pulls the shirt over his head in one motion, and reaches for his chest wrap, tying it back on. He even puts on his outer vest before spreading his arms, as if awaiting judgement. Thancred grunts at him and heads to the vendor so they can pay.

He knows, realistically, that Ikael is exposing even more skin dressed like this, but for some reason, the image of him in that holed shirt seemed… almost indecent in some way.

Thancred shakes his head, irked at himself. If Ikael wants to wander around the continents wearing half a shirt, he can. It looks ridiculous, anyhow.

Thancred just hopes he does not wear it overmuch in public.

~*~

 _Bring tea_ , Ikael had said. _I want tea, Thancred. Get me tea._

What a bothersome cat. Thancred does not know why he is doing this. Perhaps it is because he is a good friend, he muses as he taps the door with his foot in an attempt to not to spill the mugs.

Ikael opens the door with an eager smile. He is—

“Why are you wearing that?” Thancred demands.

“Huh?” Ikael has the audacity to look wide-eyed and confused. It is almost adorable. Thancred hates him.

“That bloody shirt.” Thancred marches past him, and Ikael squeaks and tries to avoid the small slosh of tea that sears Thancred's hand. “I thought we’d decided that you wouldn’t wear it once you bought it.”

“ _I_ never decided that.” Ikael is already fussing around, for what Thancred does not know. He shrugs internally and carefully closes the door behind him.

“Oh, your poor hand…” Ikael says. He sounds anxious. Thancred sets one mug down on Ikael’s nightstand and cradles the other, sipping at it. He sits on the bed, watching Ikael flap his hands and scurry about.

Ikael eventually produces a small bottle of ointment, which Thancred patiently lets him dab onto his hand. Thancred does not know where this care and attention is when Ikael has to tend to his _own_ hands, but the look on Ikael’s face right now is almost entertaining, so he will allow this interaction.

Ikael takes his tea after a minute, and then proceeds to squeeze into the small gap between Thancred, his nightstand, and the wall. Thancred stares at him.

“I left space next to me open,” he says. With the—horrible, obnoxious—hole in Ikael’s shirt and Thancred's lack of sleeves, their bare shoulders are touching.

This would normally not be a problem—Thancred had expected some form of cuddling, in fact. But… the shirt. Thancred… does not want to be on its nonexistent side.

“Hm?” Ikael has started to lean against him. His tail curls around Thancred's waist. “I like this. Cozier.”

The drawn-in angle of his shoulders makes the hole dip lower. “I can see your nipple,” Thancred says.

The tip of Ikael’s tail twitches against Thancred's thigh. Ikael crooks a finger into the hole in his shirt and tugs it lower.

“Scandalous,” he says.

They drink their tea.

By the time Thancred is finished, it is as if he can feel Ikael’s every breath and movement as if it is his own. Ikael certainly does not seem to mind, with the way he is pressing into Thancred as if he will fall over if he does not merge their bodies through sheer force of will.

Thancred reaches out to place his mug on the nightstand. The angle makes him lean nearly _into_ Ikael.

A hand curls around his arm. Thancred looks, hair falling around his face, and Ikael is holding out his own empty mug.

“Me too,” he says.

Thancred sets Ikael’s mug next to his, then sits back. Ikael’s hand is still on his arm. It slides upwards, and Ikael’s fingers drape delicately over Thancred's shoulder.

“You don’t like my shirt?” Ikael asks.

Thancred looks at him. Ikael’s face is very close to his. At this angle, Thancred can practically _see_ down said shirt.

He takes Ikael’s hand from his shoulder, and Ikael says nothing. Thancred draws it across his own chest, stretching out Ikael’s arm along his torso. He holds his wrist there loosely with one hand, and Ikael does not move it.

“It falls oddly,” Thancred says, brushing the fingers of his other hand along the length of Ikael’s arm, across his shoulder, skimming his exposed pectoral. “See? It looks strange.”

“Like someone just had their way with me and I can find neither the mind nor the sense to cover myself properly?” Ikael murmurs.

Thancred's eyelids lower a fraction. Why had he said that? Ah well. Hindsight is crystal clear.

“Yes,” Thancred replies. “But no one has had their way with you yet. So it is contradictive.”

“‘Yet,’” Ikael repeats.

Thancred shrugs loosely. The movement carries Ikael’s arm, and the hand Thancred is holding by the wrist curls in on itself.

“Are you suggesting I go out and pick up?” Ikael asks. There is an almost undetectable spark in his eye. “Dressed like this?”

“Do you need to?” Thancred shoots back, easily rising to play this game.

It is Ikael’s turn to shrug. “Depends,” he says.

“On?” Thancred gently pulls Ikael’s wrist back, close enough that his arm folds in on itself. He strokes the skin of the back of Ikael’s hand with his thumb. “Whether or not you can find someone you trust, perhaps?”

“Trust…” Ikael mutters. He is staring at their hands.

“With your touch,” Thancred offers. Ikael’s gaze flicks up almost immediately to catch his. “To touch you,” Thancred clarifies.

“I touch people,” Ikael defends.

Thancred is still stroking his hand, slowly. He moves their hands; forwards, back. A little to the side.

“Would you let them move you?” he asks. “Would you trust them not to take away your agency?”

Ikael’s eyes flutter downwards. “No,” he says softly. “No, I… usually do not. I tell them what I want, and I do what they want.”

A small spark of something flickers in Thancred's chest. “Anything they want?” he asks, voice somewhat sharp.

Ikael looks at him, and the beginning and end of a smile dances across his mouth. He laughs a little, very quietly.

“Mostly anything,” he clarifies. “I have very few… definite no’s. But usually, even if I do not enjoy something… I will do it if they ask.”

Thancred still does not quite like that answer. “And how far,” he questions, “Does the range of you ‘not enjoying’ it span?”

Ikael says nothing for a moment, and his gaze falls yet again. Thancred is beginning to feel the stirrings of something akin to anger in his stomach when Ikael looks up again.

“You would not want to do that, would you?” he breathes, and the words are soft, precious, flickering with something warm echoed in his eyes. “You… are kind. You care about me.”

The dual implications in those words gives Thancred pause as he works through them. Then his hand closes around Ikael’s, and he twists and pulls him closer.

“I would not do _anything_ you did not completely enjoy,” he says into Ikael’s ear, his voice pressing against the side of his head. “I would see you utterly _consumed_ by sensation.”

Ikael shakes at that, a brief shiver that passes through his entire body, and for a second Thancred fears he has gone too far, that he has said too much. But then Ikael’s nose touches his neck, and his hand tightens around Thancred's.

When had their fingers intertwined? Thancred cannot be pressed to sort through his jittering mind and find out. He can feel Ikael’s breathing. It is calm, although his pulse against Thancred's fingers is flitting along quite rapidly.

“So—so, uh-um,” Ikael stutters, completely and joltingly awkward, and the protective tension in Thancred's chest shatters.

He drops his head onto Ikael’s shoulder and shakes it, then chuckles. Right; this is _Ikael._ He will not allow for Thancred to wallow about anything, even by accident. Very well, then. These steps, at least, Thancred knows. And with Ikael, they come oh-so-naturally.

Thancred noses along Ikael’s jaw, feeling himself relax with Ikael against him like this. “Yes?” he prompts.

“Ah-ah-ah…” Ikael seems to be piecing himself together. Thancred's mouth lifts in private amusement, but he gives the poor man as much time as he needs to articulate his thoughts.

“‘Consumed by sensation’, huh?” Ikael eventually says. “That the best you got? Is that the most seductive thing Thancred Waters, renowned _silver-tongued_ bard, can think to whisper in my ear?”

Thancred's smile widens, and he breathes out a low laugh. He draws back so he can speak to Ikael face-to-face.

“It seems to have worked, no?” he teases. “How about… if I tell you that you will know no pleasure from another man as that which I will give to you?”

His hand slides lazily across Ikael’s skin to dip into the hole in his shirt, fingertips resting loosely on his chest. Ikael’s breath hitches. Thancred smiles to himself, leans forwards, and mutters—into Ikael’s ear again—“ _I would know no greater bliss, love, than to wake you up each day with a love letter written by my tongue in between your legs.”_

Ikael makes an odd, somewhat loud choking noise at that, and Thancred grins, feeling a very familiar smugness creep into his chest. “I wrote that one myself,” he declares proudly.

“It’s a bit wordy,” Ikael says in a tight voice. “Oh, now that image is going to be…”

He trails off. Thancred grins, and sweeps his hand down Ikael’s chest.

“Yes?” he prompts once more. Ikael clears his throat, then glares at him.

“You are infuri—ah—infuriating,” he says, _almost_ steadily.

Thancred's grin widens, and he trails his hand back up again, lightly dragging his nails up Ikael’s ribcage—avoids the aforementioned nipple, because he is a man with manners and he does not—

Ikael makes an irritated noise, releases Thancred's other hand to grab him by his collar, and kisses him.

 _I am a master of seduction, see_ , Thancred does not say, and opens his mouth so Ikael can slide his tongue in.

The kiss starts slow, but not careful, and then someone—Ikael, because Thancred is not the loud and needy one—moans, and it becomes deep and passionate very, very fast. If Thancred were to wager a guess, he would say that Ikael is expressing all of unspoken emotion into the kiss and onto a very innocent Thancred, who is, of course, only mirroring him out of civility and good grace.

Except now the words _Ikael_ and _loud and needy_ are together in Thancred's mind, and he finds that he quite likes the idea, and perhaps if he were to _keep_ kissing Ikael—as he is now—out of… good grace, of course, perhaps he will get to see that.

… Cause it, even.

Ikael mouth slips from his, which is fine, because he needs to breathe, and his hands begin to roam over Thancred's neck and jaw, over the back of his head as Thancred kisses from his mouth to his neck. He tugs questioningly at the ties of Thancred's bandana, and Thancred nods. Ikael pulls it off.

His fingers thread through Thancred’s hair. Thancred slides the _ridiculous_ hole in his shirt to the side, slipping it off of Ikael’s shoulders so it falls down around his waist. It does so so _easily,_ and Thancred greedily kisses down the skin it leaves behind, touching what he cannot reach with the pads of his fingers.

“Thancred?” Ikael breathes, his hands holding Thancred's head like he is a precious thing. Thancred makes a questioning noise, and slides his mouth over a nipple.

Ikael’s fingers spasm in his hair. Thancred smiles internally before sucking lightly.

“Um—a-ah,” Ikael says, sounding lost. Thancred takes some pity on him and pulls back, resting his forehead against Ikael’s chest.

“I-I just need to know,” Ikael begins softly, “If… how seriously you are taking this. I… I-I-I was hoping I… I-I hope I mean something to—mean some—I-I mean…”

Thancred has rarely heard him stutter this badly. He looks up, letting his gaze soften with all of the affection and gentleness he feels for Ikael as his head is held, and petted, and gently stroked.

“You are one of my dearest friends,” he says honestly. “I will not cast you aside after this, if that is what you fear. I will not run off, either. We _will_ speak of this, either now or later, that I guarantee you. As much as you like.”

Ikael nods as he talks, and keeps nodding. “O-okay,” he says. “Oh… Okay. I can do that. Thank you, Thancred.”

Thancred smiles, and presses a soft kiss to Ikael’s mouth. When he pulls back once more, Ikael is staring at him with something akin to wonder.

“You… care about me?”  he asks, voice stretching thin. He sounds as if he is afraid of the question.

Thancred brushes Ikael’s cheek with his thumb. “Very much so,” he says. “And I always will.”

Ikael’s eyes turn suspiciously shiny, so Thancred hides a smile and ducks his head to kiss at his neck again.

“No crying during sex,” he jokes, and Ikael sniffles through a laugh.

Then Ikael’s hands leave his head—Thancred tries not to feel disappointed—and move lower, roaming down his chest and undoing the ties of his tunic. Ikael makes a curious sound when it falls away, and that is all the warning Thancred gets before he is suddenly flipped and lying faceup on Ikael’s bed, with Ikael an excited, wiggling form over him.

“I’ll be so good for you,” Ikael wheedles in an almost eager tone, and, oh, they will have to _talk_ about that later if Ikael is like this with all of his partners, but right now those words do not fail to direct most of the blood in Thancred's body south. He groans, dropping his head back, and Ikael makes a—definitely eager—little noise and starts mouthing down Thancred's chest, much like Thancred has been doing.

“I wanna suck your cock,” Ikael says when Thancred just about thinks he is going to recover, and he bangs his head on the headboard.

“Oh! Are you alright? Here, take a pillow—” And now there are at least three pillows being shoved underneath Thancred's head. He waits out Ikael’s small fit of worry, then reaches forwards and drags him up.

“You cannot just _say_ things like that, Ikael,” Thancred grunts. Ikael hums at him and kisses up his neck. “There is… foreplay. And things. Involved.”

Ikael does not respond. He is mouthing at a spot that makes the end of Thancred's train of thought disappear into nothingness. Thancred lets his eyes flutter shut and rakes his fingers loosely down Ikael’s back, and Ikael groans.

The noise realigns Thancred's focus. He opens his eyes once more and does it again, digging in very lightly this time. Ikael’s back arches underneath his fingertips.

Interesting. Thancred drags his nails down Ikael’s lower back to the waistband of his trousers, dipping underneath it. Ikael moans softly, and seems to regain his fervour as Thancred slowly slips his trousers off, taking care with his tail. Ikael takes a nipple into his mouth, which is very distracting indeed, and doubly so when he begins toying with the other one with his thumb. Nevertheless, Thancred manages, perhaps a millennium later, to slide off all of Ikael’s clothing but his smalls.

“I got you,” Thancred mumbles perhaps a bit groggily, and Ikael purrs— _purrs_! Gods—and dips his tongue into Thancred's navel.

This will not do. _Thancred_ is supposed to be the seductive one, and here Ikael is acting like some weird oversexed cat and it is somehow giving Thancred an erection. Thancred has to… do something.

He looks down, and Ikael is in the process of slipping down both his trousers _and_ his smalls—now that is clever, and why hadn’t Thancred thought of that? Thancred kicks them off his legs when he can, and then Ikael’s mouth is nearly _immediately_ on him as he proceeds to act on his earlier wish.

“Guh,” Thancred mutters, hips jerking up a fraction despite himself. Ikael moans—and _that_ feels nice—and proceeds to swallow Thancred all the way down.

“Seven hells,” Thancred chokes. Ikael makes a small, satisfied noise.

That is when Thancred remembers what Ikael had said earlier, and his mind latches onto the thought like a vice. Hopefully, his guess had been right.

“You’re doing so well, Ikael,” he says softly. Ikael’s shocked gaze flits up to meet his.

Then he moans, colour rushing to his cheeks, and Thancred smiles internally.

“You are being _so_ good for me,” he continues, his voice only wavering the slightest amount as Ikael hollows his cheeks and sucks him down. A commendable skill on Thancred’s part, he thinks. “You—ah—you’re making me feel amazing, and I am so—I am so, ah, happy with you, and you are doing _such_ a good job, o-oh…”

Ikael is becoming increasingly enthusiastic as Thancred speaks, despite the original awkwardness of his words, and his mouth is all soft, wet heat and his lips look obscene and he keeps _looking_ at Thancred, looking to see if he is still doing a good job, maybe, or perhaps just to drive him insane, he does not know—

“Stop—ah, Ikael, stop,” Thancred manages before those thoughts come to a dizzying completion, and Ikael pulls off with a small noise, a string of saliva stringing from the head of Thancred's member to his lips.

“Was that good?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“That was _very_ good, Ikael,” Thancred says, crawling upwards to kiss the redness of his lips. “Amazing.” Another kiss. “Stupendous.” Another. “Absolutely incredible.”

“O-o-oh,” Ikael says, face crimson. Thancred spreads his hands across his chest, because he wants to _touch_ again, now that he can.

“You are the gods’ gift to me, darling,” he murmurs as he slides one hand downwards to graze his hips. “You are utterly amazing, in every regard.”

Ikael makes a high, pitchy noise. Thancred gently lifts him, setting him down on his back, and keeps kissing along his skin, taking his time to taste every ilm he can reach and drag the pads of his fingers along what he cannot. Ikael’s skin heats under his mouth and jumps under his fingertips, and when Thancred reaches a sensitive spot he makes a soft, surprised sound, as if he has not expected it to be there.

Utterly ridiculous. Thancred meant what he said earlier, when this all started, and even though he cannot guarantee that he can turn every drag of his tongue and touch of his hand into greater pleasure than Ikael has ever known, he can damn well try.

“Ikael?” he questions softly when his fingers brush Ikael’s smalls. “May I?”

Ikael lifts his hips in response to that, making an eager sound. Thancred chuckles and, deciding to be cheeky for a moment, nudges Ikael’s legs apart to clamp his mouth down between them.

“Hu—?” Ikael mumbles. Thancred smiles internally and presses forwards with the flat of his tongue. Ikael jumps a little.

It tastes like—well, what it has been smelling like, frankly. Sex, heady and thick. Thancred is tempted to just slip past Ikael's smalls, to nudge them aside with his tongue and pleasure him from just that, but he does not. Instead he withdraws, and obediently slips them down.

He cocks his head somewhat curiously, the Sharlayan in him noting all the differences between what he is used to and what he sees. He does not know the exact specifics of Ikael’s anatomy, but it seems familiar enough, and there is a small nub not quite nestled inside that Thancred has a very good idea of how to use.

“Ah, Thancred,” Ikael breathes, and Thancred looks up. Ikael licks his lips, sitting up somewhat.

“I can’t, ah, take more than a couple of fingers, inside,” he says. “And, uh, it does not feel. Much. You can keep to the outside if you want to…” He blushes. “… yeah.”

Thancred listens attentively, then nods. “Tell me if I hurt you, or if you feel uncomfortable, alright?” he says, and Ikael nods. Thancred grins. “And I _do_ ‘want to.’”

“Aheheh,” Ikael giggles shyly, and Thancred chuckles before ducking his head back down and gently pulling Ikael’s legs apart.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, somewhat delighted. It is not entirely surprising, but still. He drags a finger from the bottom to the top of Ikael’s sex, catching moisture on it, and darts his tongue out to lick at it.

“You taste delightful, darling,” he drawls, then pushes the flat of his tongue forwards again and curls it up firmly.

Ikael sounds like he is about to reply to that statement, but he cuts himself off with a hoarse noise. His hips cant upwards, and Thancred gently holds them down as he works.

Ikael is _loud_ , Thancred discovers. Not that he minds. It is flattering, and also an easy way of figuring what he likes and what he does not. Thancred learns very quickly that Ikael _very_ much likes when he seals his mouth around that nub and sucks, so he does that, for as long as he can.

He is almost taken by surprise when Ikael breaks off mid-moan to jerk and shudder. Thancred keeps his mouth on him through his orgasm, and then past it, and then Ikael is croaking and shuddering again. So he _can_ do that. Nice to know.

Thancred eases up this time, letting Ikael recover for a minute before sliding his mouth back and continuing with his task. His cock his throbbing pathetically at him by now, but he ignores it for the time being, shelving his own desire to deal with Ikael’s. Ikael, who is so very lovely and good and makes the most _delightful_ noises…

“Thanc— _red_ —!” Ikael moans, and Thancred dutifully moves to suck again before Ikael spasms and shakes for the third time.

He gently withdraws when Ikael stops, and moves to kiss up his legs, his hips, his abdomen.

“How are you feeling, love?” he murmurs.

Ikael blinks at him hazily. “I wan’ you to come in my mouth,” he says, and, really, Thancred should have expected him to say something like that.

He groans, and his cock gives a more-than-interested twitch at that idea. Then Ikael is sliding across him, and hot skin and murmurs and soft touches, and then he takes Thancred into his mouth again, and Thancred swears violently.

This time, Ikael— _smears a hand between his legs—_ and wraps his fingers around Thancred's cock as he sucks the head into his mouth. Thancred swears again, letting himself fall back against the bed, and tries not to finish too soon.

It is difficult, because Ikael’s tongue is flicking repeatedly against that sensitive spot on the underside, and he is still _looking_ Thancred—Thancred immediately looks away when he dares a glance down, deciding that that was a mistake, since he wants himself to last. Then Ikael starts _purring_ again, and, oh, that feels interesting, and Thancred's hands clench in the bedsheets as he stutters out a faint warning before his mind whites out.

When he comes to himself once more, he sees Ikael dutifully cleaning him up with small licks, apparently trying to catch whatever he hadn’t swallowed. Thancred makes a noise somewhat like a dying chocobo, and Ikael’s eyes dart up to meet his. He smiles.

“Was that good?” he asks eagerly. Thancred huffs out a laugh.

“It was amazing, Ikael,” he mumbles tiredly as Ikael wiggles upwards to force himself into Thancred's personal space. Thancred cannot bring himself to even teasingly comment on the fact that he is a cuddler. Hells, maybe Thancred is now, too.

“We need to clean up,” Ikael mumbles after a minute. Thancred grunts, feeling too tired to move. “No, seriously. You smell.”

“ _I_ smell?” Thancred mutters, rolling his head around. “ _You_ smell.”

Ikael sticks his tongue out at him. Thancred kisses it.

“You are so ridiculous,” Thancred tells him ten minutes later, once they have detached from each other. Ikael kisses his nose. “Alright, _fine_. Lead me to your overextravagant bathing quarters...”

Ikael giggles, and latches onto Thancred's arm to jerk him ungracefully out of bed. Thancred stumbles, swears, and follows him.

He is not adverse to taking a shower if it is in Ikael’s quarters, even if that means acknowledging that he does somewhat smell. After all, there is a _lot_ of room, and Thancred can think of _very_ fun and creative ways for them to clean themselves.

~*~

 


End file.
